Making Progress
by DeniseV
Summary: The guys have a long night ahead of them working a double shift. Can they make it through the night in one piece?


"Would ya help me up?" I was hesitant to ask for help, as my partner was looking a little unsteady himself.

"Oh. Yeah." Starsky reached his hand down to me and I grabbed it. He pulled me up from the pile of trash in the alley, making sure I was steady on my feet and relatively unscathed by the scuffle we just lost before letting go. Just five minutes earlier, we had entered the grocery when Hal, the manager, yelled to us that he had been robbed by the guy we just passed coming in.

"Call the police." I told him as we ran out. He called back, "You are the police!" I screamed back, "Do it!" There was no way we were going to stay here for this robbery any longer than we had to. A uniformed team, on duty, would be able to take over for us when they got here.

We caught sight of the guy just down from the store. He was turned our way and realized what was going down. He ran and headed for the nearest alley. Starsky dove for him and managed to drag him down just before slamming hard into a dumpster. He was stunned a little, and I proceeded to reach for the guy, who had regained his momentum and knocked me down into a huge pile of assorted trash. I was having a helluva time getting out of it. The punk got away and Starsky had finally managed to get up himself.

I looked my partner in the eyes. He was looking a little out of it, moving pretty slow and trying to keep his head steady. "How's your head. You whacked it pretty hard back there."

"Hurts." He grabbed his forehead with his left hand as he leaned his other arm on my shoulder. "Let's get outta here." He only rested for a second before heading back to the store.

We were on our way to my place to grab dinner and catch some sleep before starting our midnight shift. We had been working double shifts this week due to an unfortunate series of events over which we had no control. That wasn't news, of course. But we seemed less and less in control of some cases lately, too. No doubt we could chalk it up to the long hours and nowhere near enough sleep. We were both tired and felt lucky when Captain Dobey told us to log out early and rest up for tonight.

There was a convention of gun owners in town and much of the uniformed police force was assigned to ensuring that the events surrounding the convention would go on peacefully and that the citizens, both local and visiting, would be protected. In addition to that, one of our more experienced detective teams, Simmons and Babcock, was spending all of their time finalizing the case against Charlie Broward, a top drug dealer. The trial was set to begin on Monday.

So we had made it to my local grocery just in time to play chase with another bad guy. It'd been a wicked day already and we really needed to get that sleep if we were going to be any use at midnight.

I stopped Starsky's forward movement by placing my hand on his chest. It stopped him immediately; I think it was hurting his head to even be walking. "Go to the car and close your eyes for a while and I'll get the food. Do you need anything?" The look of thanks was all I needed to know it was the right call.

"Nah. You got Tylenol at home, right?"

"Yeah." I grabbed his upper arm and leaned down a little to catch a glimpse of his face, which was titled down in an effort to avert the bright store lights which were obviously bothering his head, too. "I'll be right back." I told him as I directed him to the car.

I went to see Hal, who was speaking to the two uniformed officers we saw drive up as we approached the store. "Sorry, Hal. Couldn't get him."

"Ah, that's alright, Kenny. It was just dumb luck that you and Dave walked in then anyway. Where is Dave?"

"He's in the car. He slammed his head pretty hard back there. He's resting. Look, I'm gonna let Jenkins and Miller take care of this for you, okay?" I didn't want to leave him, but this situation was in good hands and I needed to get Starsky home and make sure he was okay.

"Oh, sure Kenny. No problem. Can I help you find anything?" Hal was a nice old man. It was a shame this happened to him, but he had to feel lucky, and thankful, that nobody was hurt.

"No, I know where everything is that I need. Thanks." I rubbed his back, and then I grabbed a cart and quickly found everything I needed for dinner tonight. I specifically wanted to stop at Hal's Grocery because his wife made a mean chili, vegetarian. I had grabbed some hamburger to add to it for Starsky and a bottle of chili sauce for my cast iron-stomached best friend. I also got all the fixings for a nice salad. I wasn't sure he'd be up to eating any of it right away.

I checked out and headed for the Torino. Starsky was in the passenger's seat and appeared to be sleeping. I opened the driver's side door, placed the bags in the back seat and sat down in the driver's seat. Starsky was sleeping, and that was unfortunate, because I didn't have the keys. I reached over to check in his jacket pockets, but knew I wouldn't find anything. I knew that he always put his keys in his right pants pocket. I looked at my partner. He seemed pretty fast asleep, so I headed out of the car and over to the passenger side door.

I opened the door as quietly as I could. It was not a good sign that Starsk was sleeping through all of this. I wondered if maybe it was a mistake to not get him checked out for the possibility of a concussion. I'd have to watch him carefully for the next while for other signs.

I kneeled down next to him and began to put my hand in his pocket. My hand was just barely in his pocket, and I just started to reach down in for his keys when I felt Starsky's hand slap firmly on my wrist, stopping any further movement.

"Whad're ya doin' Blondie?" It was pretty slurred, but it startled me anyway.

"Uh, I need the keys, Starsk." I could feel my cheeks begin to flush. I was halted in this, how shall I say, delicate position, with the door open for anyone to see.

"Did ya try lookin' in the ignition, Detective?" Even half asleep and in pain, my partner still had a joke handy.

I looked across his legs and saw the keys dangling from the ignition.

"Um, can I have my hand back now, Starsk, so we can get the hell out of here. It's a little embarrassing sitting here like this." Miller was now watching, waiting for his partner to join in watching the fun, no doubt.

"Maybe you'll be more careful where you put your hand next time, partner." He wiggled his eyebrows, purely for Miller's benefit. It got the desired result, a chuckle from Miller and my face brightening a shade. But he thankfully let go of my hand.

We headed up the steps to Venice Place, Starsky ahead of me. Suddenly he felt like he was falling back in to my chest on the steps. "Hey, Starsk, you okay?" I asked as I held him up. He grabbed tight to the railing and said, "Yeah, just felt a little dizzy there for a second. I'm okay now." He continued up to the landing and leaned against the wall. "Ah, I need to lie down."

"Hold tight, buddy, I just have to get the door." I unlocked the door and opened it wide to allow Starsky to go through. He headed straight for the couch. I shut the door and brought the groceries to the kitchen. I went back to the living room and checked on Starsky.

"Hey, you think you might have a concussion after all?" I looked at his head. He didn't seem to have much of a lump. He probably didn't have a concussion; the bump from the impact was most likely hurting more than normal because he was already so tired from the full day we'd already worked. We had started work at seven in the morning and worked straight through lunch until Dobey ordered us to leave. The schedule had been like this all week, and we had worked different shifts each day, so we hadn't really gotten any good sleep all week.

"Uh, uh. Just tired." He was acting very drowsy, but he had a strained look on his face and going to sleep like that would certainly not allow him a restful slumber.

"You want to eat something before you sleep? We didn't get lunch today." A Starsky who was feeling well would jump at eating right now; he'd normally be starved by this time of day.

"Ugh. No food! I'll eat later." I figured. Actually, I thought he was looking a little nauseous.

"Hey, let's get some Tylenol in you. I'll get them and some water while you change for bed."

"I don't know if I can sleep right now, Hutch. I'm feeling a little sick to my stomach. And my head…" He had been holding his head again the last couple of minutes.

"If you're going to be sick, do you want me to help you to the bathroom?"

"No, I don't feel like I'm gonna throw up, I just think I'd feel better if I did, ya know?" Yeah, I knew what he meant.

"Well, buddy," I was sitting in front of him on the coffee table now, "maybe you should try putting your finger down your throat. That usually does the trick for me." Thankfully I hadn't had to use that trick in a long time.

"Hutch ya know I can't do that. Just thinkin' about it makes me want to gag."

"Isn't that the point, Gordo? Hey, you know something that'll really make you gag. I used to know someone who would put chocolate in her chili." He was really looking like he was about ready to heave. And just that fast, he lifted up and pushed me out of the way as he ran for the bathroom. I followed him in and reached for a towel and I wet a washcloth for my partner.

"Success." I said, as I handed him the cloth. He looked up at me from the toilet and said, "Thanks, for nothin'."

"Hey, you're the one who said you thought you'd feel better. And I don't think my powers of suggestion are that commanding. You've been looking a little green since you got here." I helped him up and he stayed in the bathroom to brush his teeth and rinse his face. He was a little unsteady and I helped him toward the bedroom.

"Where ya takin' me, Blintz?" he asked, stopping in our path to my bedroom.

"You're going to take off your clothes and get in bed while I go get your pills and water." He seemed ready to argue, but he could see I was in no mood for prolonging this standoff. I took his jacket off of him and helped him remove his holster, and then he continued into the bedroom.

I came back with the Tylenol and water and he took his medicine like a good boy and pretty promptly fell asleep, looking like he might actually get some rest.

I decided to get all of the food ready and then went to sleep myself, setting the alarm for ten thirty so that we would have time to get ready, eat and be back on patrol by midnight.

We hit the road at twelve o'clock sharp. I got up in time to make a pot of coffee and put it in a thermos. I also put together a cooler with some milk for the coffee and other goodies to keep handy for the long night. There was no doubt that Starsky would be looking for a "mid-morning" snack by around two.

For some reason, working the midnight shift always seemed like a longer eight hours than our regular shift. I guess the darkness contributed, but it was also the quiet of the night. The bustling city became sluggish, and fortunately for us, we were lucky that our one midnight shift earlier in the week was relatively quiet.

My partner had woken fairly easily when I shook him awake at ten thirty. He had finally gotten to sleep around five o'clock, and except for waking him an hour later just to check for signs of concussion, he slept soundly straight through. That was still only five hours sleep, however, and I know I was feeling tired and I hadn't been slammed head first into a dumpster.

The grinding week was wreaking havoc on my partner and me. Starsky was fully recovered from the devastating injuries he had suffered at the hands of James Gunther's hit men, but the fact was that his body still needed decent rest to be in top shape. With the amount of effort he continued to put into keeping in shape came an equal need for rest in order to rejuvenate his body. And the fact was that it killed him to do the workouts and it wasn't just physically that his body required the sleep. He was both psychologically and emotionally best prepared to do the work when he had a full eight hours. That was true for Starsky both before and after the shooting.

So, I was still concerned for him when we started our shift, but he had seemed just fine as we were getting ready and was giving every indication that he was ready for work.

"So Blintz, whaddya got in that cooler?" We were in my car tonight. We always used my car on midnight shifts because Starsky's car was so hideous, I mean, red that it would surely drive all the criminals back to their holes. Hmm, on second thought, maybe we should take his car from now on.

"Starsk, you just ate forty-five minutes ago."

"Did I say I wanted anything, Hutch? Woke up a little cranky, did we?" Well, actually I had.

"Oh. Well, I just thought you were hinting for a snack already." I'm pretty sure he was.

"Nah. Not hungry. But, if ya had something to drink in there…I sure could go for something cold right now."

"Go ahead." I really didn't have a whole lot of choice in the matter anyway. He practically dove into the back seat to take a look at what was packed.

"Hey, Blondie, ya done good. We shouldn't have to stop all shift." Except for you to puke, I thought. Or me.

We cruised our beat for a good two hours with no activity. It was quiet, too quiet. Starsky had fallen asleep, which was fine with me and totally expected. He hated this shift, and was so far behind on sleep. That damn convention was over with today; not a day too soon if you ask me. We would both be able to sleep a normal night's sleep tonight, for the first time in seven straight nights.

We received our first call of the night. There was a report of a prowler at a house in a middle class neighborhood nearby. I grabbed the radio and tapped him with it. "Hey, wake up and respond to this prowler call."

Starsky woke and asked, "How'm I supposed to respond when I don't know where it is?"

"It's at 22341 Hilton. Come on, let's do it." I admit I was still feeling cranky. I couldn't wait to get to my bed tonight.

"Zebra Three responding to the report of a prowler at 22341 Hilton." Starsky threw the mars light on the roof and I got us to the neighborhood pretty quickly, where we turned off the siren but kept both the mars light and my headlights on.

We didn't see anything as we approached the house from my car. There were no lights on inside or out. I looked at my partner and announced without speaking that I would check out the back by way of the right side of the house, he would approach similarly from the left.

I reached the back of the house and found a fence stopping my way. I jumped it, and continued slowly around to the back porch. I met up with Starsky at the bottom step of the porch. I began to say that it didn't look like there was anyone around outside now, when I got hit, full tackle mode, from my right. Whoever hit me was either huge or had been moving pretty fast, or both, because I flew full force into Starsky, who was knocked hard to the ground, followed by me falling on his legs. And my elbow hit him hard in the stomach. Shit.

I scrambled to get up to try and defend myself and my partner, who was winded and not in fighting shape at the moment. I saw the guy out of the corner of my eye as he headed toward the driveway. Fortunately, he was better at tackling than jumping, and he tripped himself up trying to get over the fence. He was still on the ground when I put my gun to his head and said, "Police. If you move I will shoot." The guy stayed put and I cuffed him and then I headed over to Starsky.

He was sitting up, which was good, but he had just finished vomiting up his "dinner", which was bad not only because it was chili and salad and a nasty mess, but because my fall on him was hard enough that we were going to have to go to the hospital to get him checked out. Of all the bad things that had gone on this unending week, the worst was about to happen.

I guess my face told the story as I approached, because my partner began, "Don't even say it, Hutch, 'cause it ain't gonna happen."

"Well, it is, so get over it." I kneeled down next to him. "You didn't care for my cooking, huh?" He was actually looking better than I expected, and he almost fooled me in to thinking that he didn't need to go to the emergency room when he was violently overcome by a very bad cramp. He keeled over right in front of me and I grabbed him before he dove straight into the pile he had left just a minute or two ago.

"Hey, hey, hold on there, pal. I got ya." I held him firmly but didn't squeeze too hard. I wasn't sure exactly what was wrong and didn't want to hurt him more. He grabbed hard on my jacket in the back, pinching all the way through to my skin. It was pretty painful, so he must have been hurting pretty bad. I held him well over a minute before he started to relax. I looked at his face and said to him quietly, "Will you be okay here while I call for back up and an ambulance?"

His face had developed a light sheen of sweat and it had that pinched look of pain I had become so familiar with throughout his painful recovery. He looked at me, took a deep breath, and said, "I'll keep an eye on the perp. Don't take too long, huh?"

"Be right back." I smiled at him and grasped his shoulder firmly, sustaining the touch as long as I could before walking away.

The doctor at the emergency room said that Starsky had only suffered a bad bruise and that he saw no reason that he couldn't finish his shift. This made Starsky happy I'm sure, but I was livid and, outside of earshot of my partner, I let that doctor have it.

"Look, he is tired, he suffered a head wound this afternoon and he hasn't had more than five hours of sleep any night this week. He's close to exhaustion! You should have signed him off duty for the rest of this shift." I was in his space, without doubt, and he was a small guy, so I should have intimidated him. He wasn't intimidated.

"Look, Detective Hutchinson, I have to call it as I see it. Your partner is fine. A little sore, for sure. Definitely tired. But every cop I've seen in here this week has been tired. So, I made the call that seemed right for the situation. I guarantee you your partner is fit to go back on patrol. Anything else, Detective?" I couldn't think of anything else, and at that moment it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Because as I headed back toward the ER waiting room, there was Starsky standing looking my way. And if looks really could kill, then my partner was now partner less, because I was dead.

As I reached him I asked, "They discharged ya? How do you feel?" Starsky was pissed.

"Not here, Hutch." And he headed out the door.

I followed him to the car. I knew I was going to get an earful, and I probably deserved it. I got in the car and Starsky was already signing us back in. I looked over to him before starting the car. "Look," I started, but Starsky was not going to allow a discussion just then.

"Hutch, we really can't talk about this right now. Let's just try to get through this shift, okay?" There was more meaning to that last sentence than I could imagine, I'm sure. But there was no doubt that I was going to abide by his wishes on this one. We were staring each other down, a mini-standoff that my partner was about to win. I shook my head in agreement and he looked away, staring out the window and looking miserable.

We continued our shift in what, to me, was a desperate silence. I hated it and I hated that I had caused it. We only had a couple of hours to go, but I just couldn't see continuing like this for even another five minutes.

"Starsky, can we talk about this?" I glanced at my partner, who for the first time since leaving the hospital took his eyes away from the window and looked at me.

"Sure." That's all I got from him. I guess he was looking for me to explain myself. It was kind of strange, but I found that I was actually psyching myself up for this, my inner thoughts saying, "Buck up, just say what you want to say." I'm not sure why I felt the need to do this. This was my partner, my best friend, and I never had trouble being straight with him before. But I know that time and time again since the shooting he has tried to explain to me his feelings about how I react sometimes. And it always hurts to realize that reacting that way hurts him. I knew this discussion was going to bring that acknowledgement, again. I pulled the car over.

"I want you to know that I recognize what I am doing when I overreact. I recognize my own weakness in those moments, and I want to do better. But Starsk, when you fell over in my arms tonight, I don't know what you expected me to do. I cannot control how I react when something like that happens. I'm never going to be able to change the way I feel when I see you hurting." I was looking at my partner when I started my spiel, but now my head was down, waiting for some reaction.

I looked up, as Starsky still hadn't spoken. I wondered if he was listening at all. He was staring at me intently, and shaking his head slightly back and forth.

"Hutch, you're a smart guy, but I don't think you're gettin' why I'm mad. This time." He was giving me that Starsky look. You know the one. The one that says you have my full attention, that I will understand no matter what, that I love you unconditionally, even if you are being a stupid lug.

He went on. "There is nothing better than having you there for me. I know, deep down, that just havin' you hold me is the only reason I survive some of these scrapes we get into in this work. I need that strength, that love. That's not the problem, Hutch, and I would never want that to change."

The atmosphere in the car had changed so drastically from just a few minutes ago. First, it was no longer unbearably quiet. That was good. Second, I had a lump in my throat that threatened to choke me should I have to speak at that moment. Thankfully, my partner was not finished.

"I just, you know, in the hospital. You have to learn when to ease off, Hutch. I'm not one of your delicate plants that needs special care. I'm a man, a cop, your partner. I'm back. I've been back for a long time now, and you can't keep thinking that I'm gonna fall apart every time I get injured. I think I've proven that I can come back from these injuries and still back you up." He seemed to be through, and he'd made his case eloquently, both in words and in his obvious quick recovery from tonight's earlier events.

I shook my head, a lot, projecting my agreement with what he said. I was still looking for the right words, but all I came up with was, "Yeah." I smiled, and he smiled back at me with his own questioning, "Yeah?" And then I replied, "Yeah, partner." I started the car again and we were back to finishing this long midnight shift.

We continued patrolling in companionable conversation, discussing the sleep we would catch up on this weekend, and what else we might do with this weekend off. Starsky mentioned maybe going to see a movie when, suddenly he said, "Over there, Hutch! It's that guy from Hal's, pull over!" I pulled the car over as fast as I could. Starsky was out before I'd stopped, and I was following right behind.

We were a half an hour from the end of our shift, and really ready to call it a day. The guy began running and we were forced to break up to try to corner him. Starsky followed him down a side street and I went around the school to see if I could catch the suspect on the other side. As I found my way to the back of the school, I saw my partner running full out in the ball field behind it. He was amazing to watch, even after all these years and all he'd been through, he was still fast on his feet and was catching up with the fleeing robber with every stride. At about the twenty-yard line, Starsky grabbed for the guy's jacket and hauled him to the ground. The guy hit the ground hard, and was winded enough for Starsky to get the cuffs on him effortlessly.

I caught up with them, winded myself. Starsky was breathing fast and furious, but that was to be expected from the all-out sprint he'd just put himself through. "Nice tackle." I said. He was standing, catching his breath, then said through gulping breaths, "Read him…his…rights. I'm gonna…sit…a minute, 'kay?" And then he plopped down on the ground.

You bet, partner, I thought. And I didn't hover. I think I was making progress.

The End


End file.
